


Coffee and bleach

by lazyboo



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, no plot to speak of, pretty much smut for the sake of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 19:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyboo/pseuds/lazyboo
Summary: Patsy arrives home from work to find Delia in the bath. Waiting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah... I felt compelled to write this based on general bemoaning of the lack of pupcake smut in the fandom lately. I figured I should stop complaining and do something about it. 
> 
> Timeline wise I've left it pretty open. In my head this is some amorphous time in the future when they've once again got their own flat.

Well before she found the key in her pocket, Patsy could hear the music. It had been a long day in a very long week, but the faint off key singing barely audible under the record player’s din brought a smile to her face. A new energy to her step. 

She was home. 

The lock, predictably, required some coercion before it would acknowledge the key’s presence. The tumbler giving way with a disgruntled series of clunks that would one day herald a breakage. But not today. Today the tumbler held and turned and the door swung on its hinge. Released the aroma of coffee and flowers and whatever Delia had prepared for supper. 

It made her stomach grumble, protesting the lengthy delay since luncheon at Nonnatus House. But first, there was something she needed to do. Someone she needed very desperately to kiss.

Patsy toed off her shoes, sighing in pleasure as her stockinged feet wiggled and stretched. Free from the confines of sensible leather. She crept stealthily towards the bathroom, although the effort was mostly wasted. The volume control on the Dansette was turned almost full, the music reverberating through their tiny flat much louder than Patsy would normally tolerate.

The sight that greeted Patsy as she reached the bathroom door brought her to an abrupt halt.

Delia was in the bath. Dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, submerged to the neck in gently steaming water. Feet propped over the end of the tub. Eyes closed.

Patsy had rarely seen Delia this relaxed. A lazy smile stretched the petite woman’s face as she hummed along to the music.

The vision before her quite derailed Patsy’s plans for a quick kiss and then supper. Instead, a different kind of hunger unfurled in Patsy’s belly. A slow, rapacious desire that caused her heart to pound. The flush of blood sent a warmth through her extremities, a bloom of heat in cheeks and chest and pelvis. 

She savoured the rush. Leaned against the doorframe and let her gaze roam. Let the yearning build and build until she could practically hear it rattling the cage of her control.

Patsy watched in fascination as Delia sniffed the air suddenly. Blue eyes snapped open to lock with blue. 

Neither moved. Simply stared at each other. Sunny welcoming cornflower darkened and smouldered, settled into a deep azure that spoke to Patsy’s very soul. Whispered promises and obscenities and supplications and Patsy nearly buckled under the weight of it. Felt the flex in her knees as she struggled to accommodate the force of Delia's regard. 

“How did you know?” Unashamed at the crack in her voice. It was a miracle she was able to speak at all; but she needed to know. 

“Bleach.”

Of course.

The air in the bathroom thickened perceptibly as their gazes held and held and held. Patsy could feel every muscle in her body tighten, poised and primed and ready. Oh so ready. 

Finally, Delia smirked. Leaned back against the bath and closed her eyes.

Patsy gulped air into starved lungs. 

“So… see something that takes your fancy?”

There were no words to be found. All capacity for speech had retreated, lost to the flare of lust that was burning away everything except core functions. Breathing. Heartbeat. Need.

She at least had the wherewithal to unpin her hat, place it atop the pile of Delia’s clothing on the chair in the corner. Shrugged off her burgundy cardigan and hung it on the door handle. She’d regret that later, undoubtedly. But for right now it was the best she could do.

Three steps, and Patsy was kneeling by the side of the tub. Seemingly penitent.

The satisfied smirk curling Delia’s lips deepened. Dimples in sharp relief under the stark bathroom light bulb. 

Patsy hooked one hand behind Delia’s neck, tugged forward - as the other found its way under the water. There was no resistance. The Welsh woman’s body simply conceded, her lips as soft and warm and compliant as the skin of her abdomen.

It drove Patsy to absolute distraction, the dichotomy. Delia could tease and flirt and use her eyes and her voice to reduce Patsy to an incoherent mess of desire, and then just surrender. Deliver her body into Patsy’s desperate, grateful, worshipping hands. So very grateful.

Delia tasted of toothpaste, fresh and clean and minty and Patsy almost broke the kiss to grin. She’d planned this all out.

God, she was so hopelessly in love.

Patsy’s tongue chased every last hint of lingering peppermint as her hand traced the planes of Delia’s submerged form. Followed the curve of belly and hips and waist. Trailed fingers down the outside of a thigh before drawing them teasingly back up the inside, veering off at the last moment.

A tiny gasp, a surge of hips. Patsy felt her head get hot as blue eyes blinked open. Imploring.

“Pats, don’t tease.”

“What, the way you like to torment me?”

“Patience Elizabeth Mount, I have been thinking about you all afternoon. You can tease me all you like. Just save it for later.”

There was no amount of willpower in the world sufficient to resist that.

Patsy’s hand found the rounded softness of a breast as their lips met once more. Delia sighed into her mouth, and her hips surged as Patsy’s thumb stroked a hardened nipple, sending a splash of water over the edge of the tub.

So caught up she didn’t even notice the wet patch on her uniform.

A minute of exploration, of enjoyment. Of tongues sliding sensuously, of breathy gasps and whimpers in the back of the throat. Of taut skin and pinching fingers and tension building and building. 

Until small hands grasped Patsy’s wrist. Indicated clearly and without compromise that her hand was required elsewhere.

Patsy placed a final lingering kiss on swollen lips. Shuffled sideways until she could take a firm grip on Delia's ankle, lift it up and out of the water, draping Delia’s leg over the side of the bath by the knee.

Patsy deposited a kiss on that same knee. Then very deliberately drew her nails from ankle to knee, knee to water line. In her peripheral vision she saw Delia bite her bottom lip. Eyes tightly closed, brow furrowed. Her fingers gentled, trailing a delicate and winding path from water line to inner thigh. Exulting in the laboured breaths from the far end of the bath. 

One more inch, and her fingers met with dark curls. Another, and she was enveloped in warm slickness that had nothing to do with bath water.

Delia gasped. Clamped onto the sides of the bath with white knuckles.

“Pats, please.” Breathless. 

Knowledgeable fingers explored carefully, pressing and sliding and caressing and Patsy bit down on her lip to keep quiet. Delia was making the most delicious sounds, the cover of the Dansette allowing her the freedom to express her desires more vocally than usual, and Patsy didn't want to miss a moment of it. Had to clench her thighs together to provide some relief as her body responded to the woman before her. 

The pitch of the Welsh woman’s voice increased as Patsy focused her attention on Delia’s clit. Circled and stroked and squeezed until Delia’s body was a graceful arch of tension and need that collapsed suddenly with a hoarse cry. Patsy’s name echoed through the bathroom and a wave of water drenched the front of Patsy’s uniform rather thoroughly.

She barely noticed. 

Shifted position again to allow a slightly better angle, because she was far from done. Two fingers pressed firmly inside, sensitive to the contractions still pulsing through tight muscles.

Patsy revelled in Delia’s broken cry, brought her other hand down to gently - ever so gently - find Delia’s clit again as her fingers began a careful motion. Her hands, capable of keeping mothers calm and babies safe, now working ceaselessly to bring pleasure to the woman she loved. 

It never failed to astonish Patsy. The power that Delia bestowed with every whimper and breathless cry and drawn out moan.

She felt it coming, felt the clench of muscles, the tightening and pulsing. Felt the rush of blood making her head hot as she stared at Delia’s face, wringing out every single bit of sensation she possibly could. Delia shuddered, and cried out wordlessly. Her petite frame subsiding back into the water as the tension leached from her.

Motionless, Patsy simply watched for a long, peaceful moment. Until her knees protested their lengthy sojourn on the floor and the water cooled on her uniform, sticking uncomfortably. 

A sigh, and she carefully released her grip on the smaller woman. Slowly retracted her fingers.

Delia whimpered softly, her disappointment almost sub-vocal. Blue eyes blinked open slowly, focusing on Patsy with a smile so delirious she almost seemed drunk. 

“You’re so good at that. And I needed you so badly.”

There was nothing that compared to Delia’s accent in the afterglow of passion. It was deep and lilting and it did things to Patsy’s insides that she couldn't begin to describe. She simply smiled back until Delia sat up a little. Noticed the state of Patsy’s dress. 

“Oh Pats! Your uniform! I'm so sorry.”

“Don't apologise.”

“But…”

“I've a free day tomorrow. Plenty of time to get it cleaned and dried.” A pause. “Besides, it was more than worth a little water damage, believe me.” Her voice caught a little at that. Still feeling the after effects in the slight stickiness between her own thighs. 

Blue eyes narrowed. Speculative. Then the smaller woman stood. Held out an imperious hand until Patsy handed her the towel. Water sheeted off curves and planes and the sight did nothing to alleviate the heightened state of her senses. 

“Pats?”

“Hmmn?”

“Do me a favour and go turn the cooker on. I want to feed you supper and then take you to bed.”

There was really no arguing with that. 

“Take off that wet uniform too.”

Patsy was only too happy to comply. It might have been a long day, but it was shaping up to be an even longer night. 

She couldn't wait.


End file.
